The following collaboration was inspired by the text How to Proceed in the Arts, by Frank OHara and Larry Rivers reprinted in Frank OHara: Art Chronicles 1954-1966 (Braziller, 1975). Their detailed study of the creative act is a smelling salt for the bureaucratic tool in us all.
Whats in an elbow? The way it moves; the stretching of flesh over bones, then its gathering in tight wrinkles mid-limb. A knee: that complex, delicate system of ligaments that makes walking, running, dancing possible. But these images are non-specificwhat of your own elbow? Your sisters knee? Have you ever really looked at the wrist of someone you admire?
Ambitious from the beginning, Ai Weiwei studied English at the University of Pennsylvania and Berkeley before attending Parsons on a scholarship, which he soon lost after he failed an art history exam given in English. Over the next decade Ai Weiwei took more than 10,000 photographs, many of which werent developed until recently.
In the face of such forceful female imagery in the work of the graduate women artists I teach, Ive had to wonder if there isnt a renewed discussion hovering around the subject of feminism. Cynically I think, Here we go again.
My father would not have approved of using a sculpture for a table and in both my mothers and my memory (and just as importantly, according to his Sculpture Book in which he recorded each of his sculptures), not one welded table is recorded.
The first piece I saw of Tracey Emins was Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963-1995, a tent with names appliquéd inside. I remember noticing the dates and figuring there was something more to this than shagging (Emin was born in 1963), though shagging and being shagged was the primary tone.
Williamsburg is over. As someone whos probably spent more time, energy, and ink than anybody writing hundreds of thousands (if not millions), of words about this neighborhood, and pedaled his sagging ass through its streets and alleys over the past 15 years, it pains me to say it, but Williamsburg is over.
Just over a month after the opening of Cy Twomblys exhibition of sculpture at MoMA, the artist died at age 83. Located in the museums fourth floor foyer gallery, the collection overlooks the lush, bustling sculpture garden beyond the exterior glass wall.
Anyone who suffers from seasonal allergies will understand what I am going to say. It begins with the accumulation of histamines within the body, usually in the springtime. As the bodys immune defenses become debilitated through pollens of various types, allergies tend to intervene.
Before Julian Schnabel became a successful Hollywood filmmaker, he was a painterand remarkably, he still is. I say remarkably because only an artist with the obduracy of a Zen ox could withstand the art world pressure against doing more than one thing.
Ten years ago in Belgium I was told that a flock of birds had migrated from Africa and settled in the rainy treetops of Brussels. Bright bits of color could be seen on spindly winter branches, the birds not out of place so much as forging a new outpost. The rumor struck me at the time as a little allegory of postcolonial diaspora in a Western European city.
Stepping out onto the gallerys deck one scorching August afternoon and waiting for my eyes to adjust to the shocking sunlight, I initially thought this exhibition looked like any Brooklyn rooftop hangout, with mismatched, weather-beaten chairs strewn about the space in conversationally-logical groupings.
Referring to Soviet “agit-trains” or “agitation machines,” even as it pretends to deliver a strong message that dissolves into twitters in the wind, this shadowy, involuted world also harks back to the artist’s childhood in Soviet Russia.
Talk to Me teems with the usual suspects: games and toys, urban planning, ergonomics, and random creativity. Its a strange, small show whose interestand commonalityseems to be that it represents mostly experimental art school work from a wide range of First World Western societies, including the Western satellite nation of Japan.
Morgan Packards participation-based art project, Dihedral Product, came close to taking a stance against creativity. In brief, he tasked participants with work so mindless and autonomous that it could have been done equally well by an idiot or a scholar. So in a way it was an ideal community activity, art as total democracy.
The elevators in McKim, Mead & Whites imposing Clocktower Building go to the twelfth floor. The Clocktower Gallery is on the thirteenth. Throughout August, on the other side of an often-closed door along the gallerys long white hallway, Will Corwins installation Aurochs Library quietly grew; the artist spent the month steadily building upon a spare wooden frame.
This is the Pakistani-born, London-raised, and Berlin-based artists third solo exhibition with Esther Schipper, and the first at the gallerys new location on Schöneberger Ufer. Again, Ceal Floyers simple and direct strategy of inversion and displacement make for a subtle encounter of surprise, absurdity, and wit.
I was miffed at first. Reading the Can I Get Witness? press release as I entered its boisterous opening, I struggled to envision the works by Joshua Abelow, Joachim Yoyo Friedrich, and Matt Connolly.